Der Erlkönig
by tunnelOFdawn
Summary: When Natsume begins to hear a voice, sweet and forceful, he has no father to cry to. It makes no difference. Or: a retelling of Der Erlkönig.


When Natsume begins to hear a voice, sweet and forceful, he has no father to cry to.

It makes no difference.

* * *

Alder-king, alder-king, the trees heave and groan. Their branches bend and creak, rustling leaves.

Alder-king, alder-king, the zephyrs whistle and sing through dry leaves. They stir the world into motion.

Alder-king, alder-king, the birds trill and caw. Their feathers gleam in the sunlight, in the moonlight, in the starlight that peaks through the canopy.

Clad in moonlit desire, in garments of silver, a willowy form reclines upon an alder bough. The tree welcomes him, as all trees do in these lovely, dark, and deep woods. His eyes are closed, dark lashes fanned across. His hair is long and loose, reminiscent of the smoothness of dark ink diffusing through water. A smile adorns his pointed face.

In another world, in another place, in another time, the woods would strangle him in their wooden embrace. The wind would wrap him in a whirlwind, forcing the air out of him. The birds would shriek "exorcist" before fleeing in a flurry of feathers. In another world, in another place, in another time, he would be Matoba Seiji, armed with bow and arrow, and arcane incantations.

In this world, he would laugh to have a human name like Matoba Seiji. He is the Alder-King, the Lord of the Woods, the Hunter, and so on and so forth. His names are endless and so is he. His true name is secret to all but himself. He knows himself truly and knows better than to be enthralled, to be bound by his true name.

* * *

Their first meeting goes like this (Natsume and Nyanko-sensei never remember this meeting and so their horror and terror begin anew with the next meeting):

"My subjects were hungry," he laughs, a merry and ringing sound that echoes and ripples. "What sort of king would I be to so cruelly deny my subjects?"

"Hungry? What…do you mean by hungry?" Halting and horrified comes the reply.

"It's winter, Natsume Takashi. Do you not think these flowers are lovely and colorful?"

Natsume's heart would always be his downfall. He had heard the hushed whispers of yōkai that painted a haunting picture: yōkai disappearing in the dense forest bordering the beach in the next town over. His resolve to not interfere (coaxed by Nyanko-sensei) was shattered upon listening to the pleading words of a small kappa whose friend had long gone missing. (Natsume and Nyanko-sensei never realize that in the same town over, humans had gone missing too, enticed by glowing lights in the distance and musical laughter.)

* * *

Through the dark and the wind, Natsume and Nyanko-sensei venture into the woods. (Now that he has friends and a family, Natsume can no longer spend hours in the daytime in lonesome ventures, in quests to help yōkai.)

"Oy, Natsume, no need to be such a scaredy-cat," Nyanko-sensei grumbles, squirming in Natsume's ever-tightening embrace.

"Nyanko-sensei, don't you see him? The yōkai with crown and robe."

"It's just the fog. Do you think, I, a great yōkai, wouldn't be able to sense such measly presences? Hmph."

The winding dirt path they tread upon grows narrower and narrower as the trees stoop down, forming a wooden lattice that grows closer and closer to the ground. Flowers bloom in profusion with every step they take. The cloying scent of flowers choke them. Light becomes a scarce commodity.

* * *

"Oh, will you not come with me, Takashi? Leave behind your troubles, for such pretty games I will play with you. Do you not desire freedom?

"Look at the flowers blooming beneath your feet. Are they not beautiful? On my shore, in my woods, lovely flowers their blossoms unfold. And you, my dear boy, I would clothe you in gold and your beauty would be beyond compare."

The voice is soft and gentle in its entreaties, inviting the listener to relax, to succumb. All the warmth of unwinding in a hot bath after a cold, long day, of slipping into soft, well-worn clothes after a day's work, of warming yourself in the body heat of another. The voice says, take courage that you're not alone. No longer alone, Natsume amends.

Temptation is serpentine, slipping and contorting itself in between the cracks and gaps of armor.

"Sensei, sensei, do you not hear what the yōkai promises me?" A wavering note betrays Natsume's fear.

"Calm down, Natsume. It's just the wind. Probably some idiot yōkai acting up."

* * *

"Do you, fine boy, want to go with me? My servants shall wait on you finely. You would want for nothing. I would dance with you, sing to you. Your dreams would be untroubled. No longer will you remember cruel hands and crueler words. No longer will you remember the hollow feeling that resided in your chest as the world passed you by." Eloquent words caress Natsume's mind. What should feel invasive quickly becomes engulfed in a rightness so palpable that Natsume cannot help but yearn.

"Sensei, can you see how he brought his servants here for me?"

"Boy, it's just the shimmer of those willow yōkai. They're common in places like these."

* * *

"I love you, your beautiful form entices me; and if you're not willing, then I will use force." Sweet words turn sinister. A nightmare from which Natsume can never awaken. Bumps dot Natsume's skin. Cold sweat leaves his skin gleaming in the moonlight that claws through the thick canopy.

"Sensei, sensei, he's touching me now! It hurts," Natsume cries, plaintive. He shudders and moans, his grip spasmodic around the cat.

"Natsume!" Madara yowls.

He leaps out of Natsume's arms, smoothly transitioning into his larger form. Natsume's slumped form is cast in the shadow of his looming protection. Madara's senses are flung wide open, ripping off the veil this yōkai had cast upon him. The world is loud and bright but not enough to overshadow the sight of the intangible fingers that pluck at Natsume's soul with the well-worn familiarity of a musician and its instrument.

Flaring with power, Madara swipes at a dark, lean form that cradles a golden mist in its greedy arms.

It is futile.

The Erlking smiles serenely beneath the veil of his long, loose hair.

"I am king within my domain. I am king without my domain. Did you truly think that you, a measly yōkai, could best me? Did you truly think that you and your human could escape me? What a fool I would be if I had let such a powerful human go. Rejoice, for I will make him a king amongst men, amongst yōkai."

They disappear into the mist.

Far too late in heeding Natsume's warnings, all that Madara is left with is a motionless corpse. He curls up around this shell, this emptiness where golden brightness had once resided. He howls; he yells; he screams. His outpouring of grief is long and tortured.

It makes no difference.


End file.
